Like Honey (3 page)

J
ennifer turned around to face him. He looked mesmerized.

“Legend has it that this cottage was the first one built on the property, that this is where the family first started keeping bees,” she told him. “We've always housed a beekeeper here. Of course, gone are the quaint days of yore. You would be overseeing vast amounts of bees and twelve beekeepers. But we do like to keep our tradition as much as possible.”

“Fancy those niches,” he said. Four niches for bee skeps, built around the outside doorway. “They're rare. I've seen them before, but not outside of Great Britain. This place is stunning,” he managed to say.

“I'm glad you like it,” she said.

He ran his fingers over the stone walls of the cottage. “Incredible,” he said as she opened the door and flipped on a light. The stone fireplace, the stone and wood-planked floor, and beamed ceilings seemed to call out to him. He quieted as he took it all in.

“This is a very old place,” he finally said. “I'd love to live here.”

Jennifer beamed. She hadn't offered him the job, yet. But she probably would. She liked him, plus he knew his stuff and was easy on the eye. That couldn't hurt. He bent over to rub his hand on a bench that sat near the fireplace, showing off his backside. Jennifer struggled not to reach out and feel it.
Get a grip, woman. Remember Liam and the complete shambles you made of that—you're just not ready yet. And then there was whatever the heck it was that almost happened last night. Maybe you should go to the beach with Maeve. You are losing your mind.

“Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately, there's no central air in this place. But it stays pretty cool in the summer.”

“It was built to be like that,” he said. “Is there a stream nearby?”

She nodded. “Follow me,” she said, and led him through the bedroom to another door and opened it to the back porch, which may have been her favorite spot on the whole property. It looked out over a creek; its opposite bank was full of wildflowers much of the time. The surrounding trees were ancient and cooling. Every time she walked out here, she felt a wash of peace come over her. She breathed it in.

“Nice,” he said. “You seem to really like it here.”

“I'd live here, if it were up to me. But I moved into the big house with my husband. It was what he wanted. Very traditional,” she said. “And I like it there, too.”

“Look,” he said, leaning against the porch rail. “I know what happened. I'd just like to say I'm sorry. It must be tough for you here, alone.” He crossed his muscled arms. The blue of his shirt brought out the blue in his eyes.

“Thanks, but I'm a tough bird, Mr. McGhilly, and I'm determined to make a go of it.”
Because I've sunk every penny I have into it—and I have to
. Gone were her romantic notions about doing it for Ren. Well, almost.

“Please call me Gray,” he said. “I'd like that.”

“As you wish,” she said, turning to go.

 

Gray ran his hands through his hair. This was quite a job opportunity, and a pang of guilt shot through him for keeping it from someone who really needed the work, who wanted the work. But he had a job to do, too, and he was confident that his work would give Jennifer some relief, one way or the other. She was wound tight and stressed. It was so clear to him, in the way she bit her lip and in the way her fingernails were chewed down to the nubs. Poor thing, trying to save a business that never really was. Or maybe she was a nervous wreck because she knew and was afraid of getting busted. If only he could tell her what he knew, why he was here, but he could not.

So what if she was stressed, American, and beautiful? Ripe for the picking. That shit only went so far when you had a job to do. A job that would make or break him. Even if he fell madly in love with her—and hell, that wasn't likely to happen—he'd still have to leave her behind. He'd seen way too many marriages destroyed by the agency.

But, my, my, he liked to watch her walk away. And as they walked through the bedroom corner of the one-room cabin, he pushed away thoughts of spreading her out on that big bed covered in quilts and exploring every inch of her.

She walked into the living area and gasped. “What are you doing here? You startled me!”

As Gray followed, he saw another man there in the doorway. He was dark, tall, and young.

“They said you were here,” he said, eyeing up Gray, who was coming away from the bed.

“Sorry to interrupt you,” he said after a moment. He was local and devilish looking with wild eyes and curly black hair.

“Gray, this is Liam, one of the gardeners on the property. Liam, this is Gray, interviewing for the position of master beekeeper. I was just showing him around,” Jennifer said.

Liam looked incredulous.

Jennifer stiffened. “What can I help you with?”

“I have some business to discuss with you,” he said, eyeing her up lasciviously.

“I'm sure it can wait,” she said, starting to walk away.

He grabbed her arm roughly. “No, it can't.”

“Take your slime-ball hands off of me,” she said, freeing her arm from him.

Gray stood straighter, razor-sharp.

“Look—” he started to say, and reached for her again. But something in Gray erupted. “Jennifer—”

Gray suddenly stood between Liam and Jennifer, crossing his arms.

“I'll talk with you later, Jennifer,” Liam said.

“Don't bother,” she said.

“What?” He tried to reach for her yet again. Gray grabbed him by the back of the neck and twisted his arm behind his back.

“The lady asked you to leave,” he said, pushing him out the front door. “I suggest you do so.” He shoved him to the ground and watched as he flailed around until he stood back on his feet.

Oh, man, he'd just lost his temper and went way out of line. He was on a job interview for chrissake. He turned to face Jennifer, holding his breath, only to see her grinning, eyes sparkling. He mustered up the words to apologize.

“You're hired,” she said, extending her hand. “When can you move in?”

A
few days' time was not too long to wait. After all, the winter-sown oilseed rape—starflowers—was just beginning to bloom, and she still hadn't gotten her shipment of Italian bees. By her estimation the harsh Scottish winter had taken about half of the estate's bees. One of the things she wanted to improve was their wintering technique. It seemed like a lot of money was wasted on buying new bees every year.

Well, that's one of the ways the money had been wasted. How did the family survive in the big old drafty house, keeping all the lands on what little money they made from the honey and the bees' pollination services? It just did not make any sense.

For about the first few months, things went smoothly, then bills came due and there didn't seem to be any money. She pored over the records and accounts, so frustrated with their ancient way of keeping the books. Ren had wanted to pull his hair out from the frustration.

“My parents were never any good with record keeping. And my grandparents were even worse,” Ren had said.

But the place had a hold on him. He grew up there, wanted to live there the rest of his life, tending to his family legacy. But his family insisted on his training for another career, even though they weren't thrilled about law enforcement. Ren didn't like handling the bees, in any case, but he was a good manager and businessperson, which made the transition even harder because his parents were not. His last few months had been a tangle of grief, frustration, and newlywed love.

Jennifer sank back into her chair and sipped at her chamomile tea. It helped her sleep, especially on stormy nights like this. The temperature had warmed but rain had moved in, and this old house, sturdy as it was, still creaked and moaned with each wind gust.

The house was over a hundred years old. Built of local stone, it was a typical large boxy farmhouse. But over the years, the D'Amicos added on a back and two wings on either side. It sat on a level space surrounded by rolling hills, with an upstairs view of the River Lyon. The second story held six en-suite bedrooms. What would she ever do with all that space, unless she wanted to run a bed-and-breakfast? And she just couldn't see having the time to start a new business on top of trying to save the old one.

She sat her almost finished cup of tea on the table next to her and pulled her blanket even closer. If she closed her eyes and took a deep whiff, she could still smell Ren on the fabric. It was his favorite throw, the one his grandmother had knitted for him. Jennifer pictured him in her mind's eye—such a macho man from the outside, a teddy bear in reality.

She drifted, curled in the chair, wrapped in the warmth of Ren's memory. She fell into a place between sleep and wake and began to drift even deeper. A hand on her hand jarred her back. She sat up. The empty room was chilled. Hadn't someone just touched her?

She clutched her hands, then brought them both to her chest, where her heart thumped hard. The hair on the back of her neck pricked.
What was going on in this house?

A curtain blew out from the window, knocking over a crystal vase, which fell onto the couch with a soft thud. Had she left a window open? Odd.

Jennifer looked at her hand, ran her fingers over it. Must have been the wind that had brushed against her hand.
There was always a logical explanation.

Later, as she slipped into her bed, she felt a familiar tightness, a longing. Ren had left her high and dry. He awakened passion in her and then died. She only missed sex during moments like this. Up in the middle of the night and unsure of what she was longing for. She only found one thing that helped: her collection of sex toys. She propped herself on her elbow and dug in the bottom of her bedside stand. Ah, there it was, the one she wanted. Just a few minutes and she'd be fast asleep.

Her orange, g-spot vibrator was one of her favorites. She flicked the on switch and rubbed it right on the center of her. Sometimes, that was enough—a little clitoral stimulation and she was off. But tonight, she wanted a vibration deep against her g-spot. One of her hands slid the instrument inside—oh, the vibration spiraled inside of her, as her other hand's fingers slid around on the outside. A tingle shot up through her and soon she was just her sex. She imagined a man with her, him inside of her hitting her in the right places. In her mind's eye, Ren, Ren, Ren! The closer the deep pulses came to the surface, her imagination took over. Hands on her. Breath on her neck. Lips on her nipples. A green-and-gold-masked face.

She gasped as the waves of pleasure overtook her, then she giggled, rolling over into a deep sleep.

 

“I'm sorry, Mrs. D'Amico, can we get payment for this delivery today?”

Jennifer looked at the deliveryman who had her new bees with him. She nodded.
I'll pay you today and not pay the electric bill until next week. Maybe I can hold them off.

Jennifer handed him the money after he dropped off the boxes in the barn. Five hundred new queens and several of their workers. She pictured the queens in their tiny boxes capped with fondant, her worker bees ready to free her.

Jennifer's hive boxes were ready for them. They had been patched and painted after the harsh winter months. She liked to think of them as unfurnished apartments. It was quite wonderful to observe the bees as they made their new home, building wax and comb.

She paid the man, trying to settle her stomach because she needed the money she had just given him. By her count, this was the year she saved this business or got the hell out of Scotland, maybe go back to her old job at the publishing house, if they'd have her. But for now, she pulled the barn door shut, looked out over the valley in front of her. She owed Ren at least a year of effort.

“Everything okay?” said a voice from behind her. It was Liam's brother Seamus. Their family came with the estate, had been gardeners or groundskeepers for generations and helped with the bees as well. She should have known better than to try to date one of them. Bad policy to date the help.

“Oh, sure, Seamus,” Jen said. “Just got my bees in.”

“More bees?” He looked at her with a question mark on his face.

“We lost about half this winter,” she told him. “Need to replenish the stock. You keep the flowers and the heather and so on blooming, and we'll make some fine honey this year. Do you mind letting the others know? We need to get on it.”

“It'll take a little time for the new bees to get going,” he said. His voice held a patronizing caution.

Jennifer knew he didn't think she was qualified to run the farm. She'd overheard a conversation one day. She wanted to say, “I may not know anything about it, but I can learn. It ain't brain surgery.”

Instead, she had walked away. She knew she had to prove herself to him and all of the locals, who were watching her—a woman and an American, at that, who married into this wealthy Scottish family who were all suddenly dead and left her their millions. She scoffed inwardly.
If only that were the case.

“Not much,” she said after a few minutes, pretending not to notice his patronizing tone. “Let's move them out into the fields tomorrow.”

“We also need to deliver some to the Donohues' place,” she said.

He smiled and nodded. Damn. He had that same sexy-cute crooked smile as his brother, but his eyes were deeper blue. Blue eyes. A shot of curiosity moved through her. Was he her masked man from the ball? He had blue eyes, as well, hadn't he?

“Did you go to the Mead Maker's Ball night before last?” she asked him.

He guffawed. “No, ma'am. We don't get invited to balls. I mean my family. You know.”

“Ah,” she said, a little disappointed. “That's too bad.”

Probably for the best. She didn't want or need to date—or even sleep—with Liam's brother. But still, a hopeful bolt moved through her. She would like to find her masked man, even though a part of her wondered if he were nothing more than a dream she had conjured.